to tap into my anger. What’s wrong with me? I was supposed to be terrorizing this girl, not ripping off her clothes and dry fucking her in my living room. My cock jolts to life beneath my towel. Earlier, I held her after her two back-to-back orgasms, and then told her to get herself cleaned up. She was quiet as she ran off, her sweatshirt barely covering her red ass.
God, I am so stupid. I shouldn’t have let it go so far.
But she was hurting. And dammit if I didn’t want to ease that pain.
Exiting the bathroom, I find some sweatpants and pull them on. After throwing on a black T-shirt, I walk back into the living room. Pots clang around in the kitchen and it’s a good reminder why I allowed her to even stay here in the first place.
Fuck with her to fuck with him.
I tap into my new resolve as I enter the kitchen. She still wears the same sweatshirt but has changed into some black yoga pants. With her wild fake-red hair piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, she looks completely fucking adorable. All plans to irritate her fly out the window.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
She jumps at my words and shoots me a nasty glare. Fire in her eyes is even more beautiful than the tears in them earlier.
“Earning my keep,” she says grumpily.
I chuckle as I approach. “By trying to kill me?”
“I hardly think a grilled cheese sandwich will kill you,” she bites back.
“Grilled cheese?” I ask with an amused lift of my brow. “What are we, twelve?”
She rolls her eyes at me as she sets the pan on the stove. “Get the butter, gramps.”
“Gramps?” I snort. “You have no idea how far from a gramps I am, little girl.” Lifting the hem of my shirt, I show her my cut abs. I work hard as hell at the building’s gym most mornings to keep this body.
Her brown eyes drag down to my stomach and she licks her bottom lip. I’m grinning triumphantly until she speaks again.
“Is that a gray hair?” she asks as she shoves past me to the fridge.
Jerking my gaze down, I inspect my happy trail and run my thumb through the dark brown hair there. “There’s no fucking gray.”
She laughs, her tone haughty and condescending. “You sure? Maybe you should get your bifocals checked.”
The little girl is poking the bear. Letting my shirt drop, I narrow my eyes at her. She’s no longer teary and sad. Her smile is present and there’s a pep in her step. “Make yourself useful and put on some tunes, grumpy Gramps.”
I walk past her and slap her sore ass, loving the squeal that escapes her. I saunter into the living room to my stereo. Pulling my iPhone from my pocket, I plug it in. Flipping through some songs, I find a Lynyrd Skynyrd album. Old man my ass. As “Tuesday’s Gone” starts playing, I walk back into the kitchen to see her swaying to the music as she butters the bread. I become transfixed on how cute she is. Everything in me says I need to fuck with her so bad she runs home to her daddy and complains. Truth is, though, I just want to fuck with her because it’s fun. Because she gives it right back.
As she works on the grilled cheese, I find some tomato soup in the cabinet and get it started on the stove. For two people who don’t like to cook, we work well side by side in the kitchen. I’ve had to learn from necessity after my wife divorced me. Callie couldn’t survive on takeout alone whenever she’d come see me, so I had to learn to cook some.
Winter sings along and I find myself smiling, amused. Just like the storm that seems to grow worse by the hour outside, Winter blew into my world just yesterday and disrupted everything. And apparently, I’m a fan of the new chaos, because this is the lightest I’ve felt in a long time.
When I look at her, I see a bit of Tony in her, but then all she has to do is open her sassy mouth or smile, and then I’m forgetting who she is. Why she’s here. Why I wanted to mess with her in the first place.
“Are we going to talk about earlier?” I ask as I stir the soup.
She cocks her head at me. “How you whipped my ass as